Chem Brothers
by N. Kage
Summary: A gangs rise to power in the Underhive.
1. Another day in the Underhive

Once again, I turn to something else while I seek inspiration from my Warhawks stuff. Please be kind in your reviews of this. I wrote it awhile ago, and just felt like publishing it. Tah. N. Kage

Chem Brothers

Chapter 1: Another Day in the Underhive

Rick-o ran down the hall, his breath tight in his chest. Next to him, carrying the four shotguns they had just stolen, ran his brother, Johnny. They had been trying to scam a merchant down in Hells Hole out of the shotguns, but a rival gang had spotted their scam. One thing led to another, and Johnny had grabbed the shotguns while Rick-o shot their way out with his trusty auto-pistols. Now, they were cheesing it back to where their gang, the Chem Brothers, was located. As they reached the Drunken Scavie, the bar the Chem Brothers spent their time when they weren't muscling out more turf or getting in fights, the four gang members who always seemed to be there, rushed outside to greet them. The four were Des, Rick-o's girl, a tough and wiry bitch who killed just as well as any man; Kush, a former member of the gang's main rival, Archeo-tech Inc, until he got sick of his boss and left. The last two were; Janes, fresh from his juvie years and looking to prove himself, and lastly, Krove, a former Arbite who had deserted and joined up about two months ago.

When the four reached Rick-o and Johnny, Johnny passed out the shotguns to them like their juvies handing out stolen ration-packs. Giggling, Des kissed Rick-o fiercely on the mouth and said, "Hope you brought some company back for me to play with."

"There they are!" a gruff voice screamed from behind Rick-o. Turning slowly, the ganger was confronted by the leering face of Debaney, the boss of Division V, the Chem Brothers newest rival, and the man who had soured their scam with the merchant in Hells Hole. "Those are our shotguns!" yelled Debaney again, backed up by the sounds of the six men behind him cocking their rifles and shotguns.

"I don't think so, Debaney. We took these shotguns off a' some Arbites we scagged a coupla cycles ago. So just turn around and get off our turf," taunted Rick-o as he loosened his pistols in the holsters under his armpits. Behind him, his gangers thumbed shells into their shotguns, while Johnny slid his cut-down lasgun out a scabbard in his trench-coat.

"Well, there, Rick-o, I think my boys out number yours, so just give up the shotguns and I won't have to fuck up that pretty little face of yours," jeered back Debaney as he flipped them off. Grinning, Rick-o drew his pistols, fast as you like and double-tapped the man standing just next to Debaney. Behind him, the other five gangers opened up, blasting the members of Division V off their feet with almost point-blank shotgun blasts or, in Johnny's case, spraying wildly with his auto-firing lasgun. After the shooting stopped, the sole survivor of the Division V group stood, shaking slightly. It was, of course, Debaney. One look at the bodies of his comrades was all he needed and he turned tail and ran.

Des ran forward and pumped a shell towards the fleeing Debaney. The ganger stumbled and screamed, but got away. Turning to Johnny, Rick-o gave him a high five and patted Janes on the back. "All right boys and girl,' said Rick-o, 'loot the bodies and find Kurk; we're goin' on a strike." Des whooped and began stalking back to the Drunken Scavie, cradling her shotgun to her chest as if she was afraid to loose it. Rick-o followed her and slapped her ass. Des spun and Rick-o kissed her and said, "Good work out there." Des grinned and said, "Thanks, your fucking majesty, but, next time, bring me some real fun," before she hugged him and pretended to knee him in his balls, before she stopped, a hands breadth from them.

Seeing a familiar face in a corner of the bar, Rick-o called out, "Hey Kurk, get your bloody stubber and meet us outside, we're goin' on a strike against Division V!" The heavy stood up and brandished the precious heavy stubber that was a cornerstone of the gang. Kurk grew up hanging with Rick-o and Johnny and had jumped a PDF trooper to get the stubber. "Alright boss," mumbled the big man as he lumbered outside.

Des and Rick-o hurried out after him, time was of the essence in a vengeance strike. The seven gangers new the drill for a strike and didn't waste any words organizing a plan. They would strike hard and fast and steal anything they could, and wreck up the place. Simple, yet beautiful.

Running the hall, the seven gangers were a fearsome sight, the other hivers in their way scattered back into their hovels and shacks. Abruptly, the graffiti on the walls changed, they were in Division V's turf.

Kush pitched forward, his knee and shin a bloody mess from an auto-gun shot. Kurk opened fire with his heavy stubber, the big weapon belching out dozens of shells that flew from the ejection port like a brass wave. All around the Chem Brothers shots rang out. Rick-o saw a body to his left and popped it four times, the Division V ganger pitching backwards, blood pouring from his stomach. Johnny kicked in a door and emptied the power-pack of his las-gun inside, cutting down two Division V boys as they were gearing up. Janes was grabbing Kush to pull him back into cover when an executioner shell blew his head off. Rick-o spun around at the shotguns report and saw Debaney thumbing another one of the expensive shells into the shotgun. Kush grabbed his fallen shotgun and racked the slide as fast he could, empting the shotgun in matter of seconds, shredding the Division V boss from the waist up. Kurk had stopped firing, his stubber jammed and overheated.

Seeing their boss dead, the rest of the Division V boys were running, darting into alley ways and into abandoned pipes. Crippled, the gang would probably disband and be forgotten, or somehow struggle to survive.

"Alright, fuckers, grab the stuff and let's go!' Rick-o paused a moment, 'and somebody help Kush!" They could probably get all of Division V's stuff and their turf if they were fast enough. Rick-o smiled to himself when he saw his brother run of a derelict building, carrying a sack of credits. Just another day in the Underhive.


	2. Turf War, First Blood

Chapter Two: Turf War, First Blood

Rick-o was sitting with his feet propped up on an ammo-crate, polishing his pistols, when Johnny burst through the door of the ware-house that was the Chem Brothers base, breathless, Names, the newest member of the gang, right behind.

"Rick-o, we've got a problem," Johnny managed to say between labored breaths. Rick-o just sat there; still polishing his pistols, but a look on his face said go on. "Some new gang stole some of our turf over by the chem.-lake. " With that statement, Rick-o jumped to his feet and grabbed Johnny by the lapels of his trench-coat and hissed, "Who are the bastards?"

Johnny eased his brother's hands off his coat, and said simply, "The bitches are some gang called the Emily Sisters." Rick-o flipped open the ammo-crate he had his feet on and rooted around in the straw padding for a moment before pulling out a web of grenades. Looking back at Johnny, Rick-o had a sinister smile on his face when he said, "Let's pay a visit to the bitches."

Rick-o, Johnny, Names and Krove hurriedly tooled up, stuffing mags, shells and grenades into every available pocket. Even though this visit was just to get 'acquainted' with the Emily Sisters, it never hurt to be prepared. And the bitches were trying to steal their turf.

The four gangers strode boldly down the middle of the street. This was their damn turf after all and no new bitches would take it from them without a fight. Since Division V had been disbanded, the Chem. Brothers had doubled their territory, and with the money and guns they had taken from Division V, they had managed to hire on some new members. Names, the newest member, was originally from the Main Spire, but had a falling out with his family and had been forced to flee down-hive. He had joined the gang to survive. However, since the Chem. Brothers were still regarded as up-starts in this part of the Hive, they still had to fight for everything.

Nearing the chem.-lake area, the polluted waters threw off a sickening green glow, brighter by far then the ancient glow-globes everywhere. Rick-o could see a group of six women re-painting the walls with their own gang-colors. He was getting pissed. He slipped one hand into a pocket in his black trench-coat, (one of the symbols of the gang, by the way) and put his fingers into a set of brass knuckles. He nodded to the other gangers, who silently readied their own weapons. Jumping rival gangers was accepted practice.

He crept up on the nearest Sister, and grabbed her shoulder, spinning her roughly around. As she spun around, he smashed her jaw brutally with his brass knuckles. With a sickening crack, her jaw broke, and she tried to scream, but only high-pitched moans and squeals were issued. Blood poured out of her mouth where the broken end of the jaw-bone pierced her mouth.

Johnny roughly pushed his brother down and lobbed a grenade towards a group of the Sisters, who turned in time to see the stick grenade spinning gracefully towards them, to explode about a meter above them. The stick grenade shredded the three Sisters totally from about the waist up, splattering the walls with gore and blood. It was a grotesque scene and Rick-o vowed to steal more grenades.

The last two Sisters had been stupid enough to prop their weapons up about five meters away from where they were painting. Rick-o thought to himself, I guess they didn't want to get their guns dirty.

Rick-o pulled his pistols out and aimed at the girls, taunting at them as they eyed their auto-guns, "The Emperors justice doesn't work that fast, ladies. Now, just take a step back from those auto-guns, and I won't have to kill you, 'kay?" The Sisters eyed each other, and then slowly backed away from their guns. Rick-o smiled, and said, "Oh, sorry, I lied," and fired his pistols, putting a round through each of the Sisters heads.

The ganger turned back to the only women left alive there. She was curled up and mewing softly, cradling her jaw. Rick-o stalked over to her and crouched down, his hands draped across his knees and said softly to her, "You tell whoever your boss is, when your jaw gets healed, of course, that if she messes with the Chem. Brothers again, I'll kill her myself. Got it?" Rick-o turned away before he could see if the Sister answered.

"Alright then; Names, drag that bitch off our turf. Krove, Johnny, get some fucking paint, and paint over their shit. GO!" A little turf war would be a good test of the Chem. Brothers.


	3. Turf War, Bitches and Bruises

Chapter 3: Bitches and Bruises

While Rick-o, Johnny, Names and Krove were putting the hurt on that bunch of Emily Sisters, another group hit the Chem Brothers right where it hurt. And hard.

Des had been oiling her shotgun in the far, dark corner of the Drunken Scavie when a quintet of hard-looking girls stepped through the beaten metal doors. They were all wearing a variety of colors, mostly reds, greens and blacks. All were heavily armed, with knives strapped to arms and in boots, autoguns and shotguns held at the readily. They didn't see Des, just Kurk, sitting at the bar, his heavy stubber disassembled in front of him.

The girl in the middle, who had long, dreadlock style hair, stepped forward, spraying a wire-framed lasgun from the hip. Kurk took about twenty bolts to his back, the rest blowing chunks from the bar, to leave smoking holes. Kurk may have been a big bastard, with metal plates riveted into his trench-coat for protection, but twenty las-bolts would have killed anyone. His body fell backwards with a heavy, metallic smack. Russ, the barkeep, had dived to the floor. Des knew he kept a pair of old Naval revolvers down there for when shit like this happened.

Thumbing one last shell into her shotgun, Des racked the slide and fired the shotgun, the hard stock smashing into her shoulder where a permanent bruise had formed. The solid slug round the shotgun spit out blew the guts and spine out of nearest bitch, spraying blood and guts everywhere. The others saw her now. The bitch with the lasgun spun, her fierce green eyes ablaze with anger. Des racked her shotgun again, the smoking casing flinging away in a smoking trail. The Chem Brother ganger fired again, the scatter shell throwing pellets in a spray that caught two of the bitches, causing them to drop, screaming at a dozen wounds, but the range was too great for the scatter shell to kill them.

The green-eyed bitch, aiming this time, put a spray of bolts at Des, two striking her arms and forcing her shotgun from her hands. One caught her chest, leaving Des leaning against a table, clutching her hands to her breasts. Thankfully, las-bolts cauterized on impact, so the ganger didn't have to worry about bleeding to death.

"Stay under the bar, old man." The green-eyed bitched hissed, as she loaded another power-pack into her lasgun. She walked over to Des's table and flopped down, her leather pants making a slight smack. She grabbed Des's long dyed pony-tail and jerked her head back roughly, making the other ganger gasp in pain. Gritting her teeth, Des looked into the hard eyes of the bitch.

"So, I take it you're Rick-o's girl?" the green-eyed ganger spoke, her voice soft, yet had a vicious, mean edge.

"Kiss my ass, bitch." Des hissed, her left hand beginning to reach down for a trench dagger kept in a hidden pocket on her trench coat.

"I don't think so.' The green-eyed bitch slammed Des's face into the hard plastic of the table, breaking her nose. Des screamed and clamped her right hand over her nose, blood running out from between her fingers. Her left had a trench dagger wrapped around it. 'You see, I'm Jess and my gang is the Emily Sisters and we're takin' over this turf. Because you're a tough little bitch, I'll give you a chance to join us. Whatta say?"

Des closed her eyes, trying to look like she was thinking things over, and fast as a sump viper, whipped the dagger out and smashed the spiked brass knuckles across Jess's face, shattering her cheek and breaking several teeth, while ripping ragged gashes open. Blood flowed down the gangers face. The two Emily Sisters who had been hit with pellets grabbed their injured boss and dragged her out by her shoulders. The last one smashed Des across her face with the butt of her autogun, breaking Des's cheek and shattering her nose. The ganger passed out in a red haze, which was for the best.

When Rick-o and the rest got back to the Drunken Scavie, they found Russ cradling Des's broken body in his gnarled arms. Des had been like a daughter to him. Des was barely alive, her arms broken and dislocated, several of her ribs broken and her face a mass of jagged bone and bruises. She was covered in blood.

Rick-o ran over to Des and knelt by her side, trying not to do anything to hurt her anymore. He screamed at Johnny, "Go get Doc Gruss!" The Doc was some uphiver, but now worked for the Chem Brothers in exchange for protection. If any one could save Des, it was Doc Gruss.

Rick-o leaned over Des, trying not to cry. He had been through so much shit, he had seen his parents killed, but this just struck too close to home. The ganger stood up again, taking off his necklace, a tooth taken from a sump 'gator and pressed into Des's hand and wrapped the numb fingers around it. Turning to the rest of the gang, who by now had heard what happened to Des and clustered into the bar, anger and pain written across their usually hard faces. Every one like Des and none dared touch her, because Rick-o had killed the last one who did. Rick-o said not a word. Everyone knew where they were going and what they had to do.

They had to make every Emily Sister pay for what happened to Des.


	4. Turf War, Death is too good

Chapter 4: Death is too good

Rick-o never got to see how Doc Gruss fixed up Des. None of the gang did. Every last one of them, all forty of the other gangers, save Johnny, followed Rick-o out the door of the Drunken Scavie, towards where the Emily Sister's hid out. Hopefully, they would catch all of them right there.

Rick-o was at the front of the mob, his shotgun cradled in his arms, as if he was afraid of losing it. At the chem-lake, he split off ten guys, under the leadership of Kush. They would try to sneak around the old PDF barracks the Sisters had claimed and cut off them off. At the processing plant that bordered the Chem Brothers territory, Rick-o split off anther ten. Kurk would have been leading it, but the big bastard was dead. Krove would have to do. These ten would hit the Sisters hard from the right and hopefully flush out any of the Sisters on patrol. Rick-o would drive straight through the Sisters turf, killing anything in their way. A trail of blood on the riveted steel ground caught his attention.

Crouching down, he poked it with his pinky. It was still fresh. Wiping his fingerless gloved hand dry, he stood. Who knows what that was about. With Kurk dead, Des unconscious and Russ not seeing anything, he had no idea what actually happened. Until he, followed closely by the mob of angry, blood mad gangers, rounded a sharp corner and almost tripped over a quartet of Emily Sisters, carrying an unconscious bitch with a smashed up face.

Rick-o was the first to recover from the initial shock of just finding what probably was the group of Emily Sisters that trashed Des. He blasted his shotgun from the hip, the raucous crack of the weapon sounding even more absurdly loud in the silence that had fallen over the area. The scatter shell took one of the Sisters square in the chest. Because of the sheer close range, the blast took off the top half of the ganger girl in a spray of blood and gore. Racking in the slide, Rick-o fired again, this time aimed between the trio still alive. The blast once again was too close to catch all three, but two standing were blown off their feet. They fell, bleeding profusely, with a mass of their chests just gone, like a sump 'gator took a bite out their chests.

Rick-o smacked one of his gangers who was about to put a round into the head of the unconscious bitch. He wanted that honor for himself. He knelt down next to her, admiring the damage the trench dagger had done to the bitches face. Just like he taught Des to do. He grabbed the bitch's long dreadlocks and smacked her across the face, hard enough to open her wounds further. She groaned and her eyes fluttered. Snarling in wordless anger, Rick-o slapped her again. Groaning even more, the ganger's eye's fluttered open and her face, though ripped open and bloody, hardened into a mask of hate.

"So you're Rick-o?" she mumbled, blood and spit drooling out of the gashes on her face.

"So you almost killed my Des." He spat back, kicking the ganger hard in the ribs.

"Pity she didn't join me and my gang." She mumbled back.

"So you're Jess, eh? I swore to kill every last Emily Sister bitch for what you all did to Des and killing you will be so sweet." Rick-o drew his autopistol and put a single round through Jess's head. Her head exploded like an overripe melon. It didn't seem like enough, nowhere near enough, especially if Des died.

Rick-o turned back to his twenty and motioned them on. Maybe if he killed every Emily Sister it would be enough. Maybe not.


	5. Guilder Trouble, Part One

Moving up hive: Guilder Trouble

Part One

Rick-o was still worried about Des. Even though Doc Gruss had told him the girl was going to be fine, he was still worried. He had even made five of his guy's stake out Doc Gruss's filthy, run-down tenement. He was taking no chances on anyone hurting Des like that again.

Since the Emily Sisters had been wiped out in a single night-cycle of bloodshed and killing, the Chem Brothers were doing good. They had taken over this entire level, 566, and had been trying to get some turf on the next one up. In fact, the Chem Brothers would have turf up there, except for Guilder Malhoon.

Every time Rick-o or Johnny would be putting the smack on some other losers or kicking the crap out of a juvie, Guilder Malhoon and his thugs would show up, flashing a contract, his thin and high voice echoing, saying the other gang had a guild contract and that the Chem Brothers couldn't touch them. If Malhoon didn't have his shell-armored thugs, with their fancy up-hive boltguns, Rick-o would have shoved a knife in the bastard's sternum in a heartbeat.

So, instead of just finding some other turf to claim, Rick-o was going to lay an ambush for the Guilder bastard. In two cycles, Johnny, Krove, Names and Dev, who now carried Kush's stubber, were to meet Malhoon in an old manufactorium, under the guise of buying guns and ammo. Rick-o and ten other Chem Brothers would be waiting in the web of gantries that hung above. If all went as planned and there were no major fuck-ups, Malhoon and his cronies would be dead and the Chem Brothers would move in, guns blazing. If all went as planned.

In the meantime, Rick-o was trying to secure some heavier guns from a down-hiver merchant. Personally, Rick-o thought the old scavie and his eight damn sons were trying to scam him. He didn't like that at all. Once again, if things went sour, he would start blasting and go from there. He was packing major heat; he had his twin pistols, a sawed-off autogun, and two trench daggers, all under his long, black leather trench coat. Going with him was Jamat, some weird bastard from way down hive, Names and Jena, the newest bitch in the gang. She was freaky, with enough tattoos and piercings for gang of freaks. Her coat was decorated with enough spikes and blades for it to be a weapon in its own right.

To get down hive, the gangers were taking Mekanics trolley. The Mekanic, a crazy, ancient Mechanicus priest, had supposedly traveled to the trolley over four hundred years ago. For a ride, he usually charged something weird, like old parts or shit like that.

When the four gangers reached the Mekanics landing on this level, they found the red-robed man-thing already there, waiting. Now, he gave Rick-o the creeps. His face was half augmetics and what he could see of Mekanics hands, they were pure machine, all gears and pistons.

"What have you brought me this time, Rick-o?" the old man hissed, his voice thin and reedy, yet somehow metallic in natural. It was unnerving. Jena threw a sack of rusted and useless parts at the Mekanics feet. He seemed to cringe at the harsh crashing sound of the parts hitting the riveted metal floor. The Mekanic rooted around in the bag for a moment and stood up again, hissing again, "Your payment is suitable. Which level do you want to go?"

"560. No questions asked, alright?"

"Done. Welcome, as always, to the Trolley." The trolley the crazed Mekanic was referring to was a vertical cable-car, probably as old as the hive itself. Rick-o had once tried to see how far up-hive the cables went, but he couldn't see that far.

Jena and Jemat, who had never ridden on the Trolley, were hesitant to step into the gently rocking steel cage. Rick-o and Names had ridden the Trolley before and stepped into the cage with only a little hesitation.

The Mekanic slammed the Trolley door shut after them. What the fuck, thought Rick-o, the Mekanic always rode in the Trolley. Rick-o stepped forward and interlaced his fingers into the wire-mesh door and called out, "What kind of scam are you pulling?"

The Mekanic looked up, with a sinister smile on his face. "I never liked you Rick-o. I hope you die." With that, the Mekanic wrenched a lever mounted in the floor and the Trolley shot downward at an alarming speed.

Rick-o clenched his fingers into the mesh and fought to keep his balance. He saw at least ten levels go by in a blur, before the Trolley stopped in an instant. He was thrown to the floor, to be have his fingers crushed Jemats boot.

"Oh shit." It was Jena, who was shouldering her autogun and opening fire on someone Rick-o couldn't see. Jemat was still standing on his hand and he couldn't stand. Names and Jemat both opened up also, the hot casings spilling onto Rick-o.

A hugely loud crack drowned out all the Chem Brothers fire. Jena's body fell, with a fist sized hole in her chest. A dozen more crack-shrieks filled the air with noise and the mutilated bodies of Jemat and Names fell onto Rick-o. He could feel their blood dripping onto his hair.

Who the fuck was that? The crack-shrieks meant boltguns and the only dudes that Rick-o knew had boltguns was Malhoons thugs. Which meant Malhoon had tried to rub Rick-o out and Rick-o didn't like that one bit.

He felt the weight lifted off his back, but the wiry ganger stayed still, holding his breath and closing his eyes. A strong hand flipped him over, but Rick-o kept still as a corpse. Then, he felt a massive gun-barrel prodding his cheek.

"Ha-ha boss, Rick-o bought it."

"Good. Leave the bodies and let's go. We've got an appointment to keep with the rest of those damn Chem dogs." It was Malhoon's voice.

Rick-o was beyond pissed. Three of his gangers had died almost without a fight and now the guilder and his thugs were going to try and slaughter his gang.

"I say we put a bullet in Rick-o's head just to make sure he's dead." It was voice that Rick-o wished he did not recognize. The voice of Johnny.

"I'm not paying you for your opinion, Johnny. If anything, I should put a bolt in your head. But I'm not. Rick-o and his Chem Brothers were getting in my way and you offered to sell out the gang. That is why I'm paying you." It was Malhoon.

Rick-o couldn't hold his breath much longer. His chest was aching and it felt like his lungs were going to burst.

"Let's go." Rick-o could hear about six men walking away. Waiting about five more seconds, he cautiously opened one eye. Nothing and no one. Sucking in great gulps of air, he looked at his gangers cooling bodies. He grabbed Jena's autogun and Names's grenades. He had some people to kill.


End file.
